Judge — May 1, 1886 — page 12: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

JUDGE. RTY keeps a corner | the Third Ward, | and it has recently become the nightly rendezvous of FM: half the colored male popula- \ tion of the vicinity. N there i parti bmental affinity between O'Rafferty and its colored population, but because O'Ratferty keeps a rousing fire and loves company. The combined warmth of his stove and heart will probably “stand him in” next spring, if he can carry the priv ries and beat Muldowney in the race for the sidermanic nomination, This, no doubt, urs to O’Ratferty as he gazes at the circle who sit around his fire night after night, and counterbalances the feeling induced by the fact that the sitters, as a rule, never buy any- thing that they can get along without, or pay for anything that they can procure on credit. Old Chocolate, the cbon ashman, is an exceptional character in this cote! He joins the circle only when the weather is extremely cold, and always pays for what he orders, He adds to the interest of the gathering by telling a story now and then, and in the disputes that frequently arise acts as referee, or “empire.” His colored brethren great faith in his judgment because his head, though a watermelon, is as level on top as a skating rink floor. He can talk in polysyllables, on occasion, and knows not a little about every bject broached. Among the other colored frequenters of this comfortable vicinity are Littleneck Green, a slender mulatto who some time served as a waiter on a summer steam- boat, but who has done nothing but ta politics and carry the market-basket for hi wife, a washerwoman, during the past five years; and Neverdie Calhoun, an aged African, Who insists that his remote ancestors were kings and that his father was a body servant to George Washington. Asa rule, the others of the company are of a nondescript class who lounge beside a fire in that half-lethargic state 2 * cats, and who awake to a ux of uw story only after the 8 long as c joke on the clin laugh has died away. One frigid night last week every soap-box and stool around the store was occupied. Littleneck had expressed dissatisfaction at the way things political were running, and com- in collision with the silver questi re marked: “*"Tan't no use, gemmen, fo’ yo’ or me toe puta silvah dollah in de stockin’ w'en we gits hit. ‘Cose whys “Tan't a dollah. Chemists dun gone an’ an’lized de silvah dol- Jah an’ foun’ dat dar an’t ony seventy-nine cents’ wulf in hit. Wat erde result? Yo’ save five silvah dollahs, an’ bimby da ull on'y be wulf seventy-nine cents apiece, an’ adollah by de transackshen. a po’ man gwine toe do?” Yes, ‘deed —w’' ‘W'at er n gwine toe , ear around the circle pricked up, while every eye was turned toward Old Chocolate for an answer. The arbiter sniffed contemptuously, looked about him and replied: ‘*Gemmen, ef all itkel quesyuns war ez easy toe dissolve ez de one jis’ perpoun’ed, p'litkel paaties wudn’ hab no 'scuse fo’ libbin’ an’ p'litishens wudn’ hab | no mo’ toe ‘gage dar intellecks dan de av'ridge ole-maids’ tea-paaty er quiltin’ bee duz. Ez I look roun’ me I doan’ see a pusson, onless hit be ouah frien’ Mistah Ratfahty, dat ud be likely toe cumulate nuff money toe gib um a| vital int’res’ in de silvah quesyun Mr. O'Rafferty took this as a compliment, bowed his acknowledgments and slyly added a paper of “blue line” tobacco to Old Choco- late’s order for groceries. The latter con- tinued: ““Gemmen, de cullud man a’n't ontoe pol’ ecuah ‘nuff fo’ toe git much ob a ride. cks toe an’ me, gemmen, am a pow’- k Jis’ de minnit we tlinks we is in de saddle we find’ dat we is on de groun We doan’ know how toe ride de animul, an’ dat er w'y I ‘scourage p'litical discushen, A man might ez well staat out ‘coon-huntin’ wid “is eyes shut ez toe talk on v he doan’ know nuflin "bout. Hit er los’ time. Littleneck, dar, 1 pokah chip fom an ovahcoat button ©. z he kin see hit, but he doan’ know nuffin ‘bout pol'ticks, Tkin tell yo’ wudder de ri * men town am penurus nuff toe sif’dair ashes er no’, cose I tote de leavii but I doan’ know wudder de Pres'‘de: toe fight wis Nevahdie from a pumkin er i but he can’t ‘splain de Spanish tre at toe meddle wid p'litkel discusshen. pmight jis’ ez well try fo’ toe ad de langwidge ona Chinese laundry check. Ez to”— “Huh! [stick Ole Chock dis time!” Littleneck, elated. ** Gemmen, he am_ be: roun’ de bush, an’ can't I vink yo’ got um, sho'ly,” put in Never- die, who was a little nettled at the reZere to in’ ah my quesyun.” the watermelon. | | “Gemmen,” replied Old Chocolate, undis. | | turbed, ‘‘doan’t try fo’ toe jump ‘cross de creek No man kin talk an’ | whistle at de same tim I dun been whistlin’ a bit, an’ now Lis gwine toe ansah dat ques- yun, Littleneck dun say dat a man dat saves | five dollahs in silvah am li’ble toe lose de dif. | ence ‘tween de bony fidy value ob de silvah xs wat a po’ man am toe do ansah, let de po’ man save ‘is | tive dol bills.” And while the company were nodding ap- proval Littleneck sneaked out without setting up the cider, J. A. WALDRON, | twall_yo' git toe hit. The JupGE doesn't wish to charge Herr von Hartmann with theft or plagiarism, but when he says, * The eudiemonological pessimism, including within itself the teleological evolu- tio cause a truly realistic, and ur ation to appear as possible,” he repeats without credit a senti- ment which the Jupe ted with telling force—it was in a discussion with relation to | the correlative forces of the absolute as against months ago. The JupGe is not combative, and for that reason it would like to have Herr von Hart- ann interviewed by Mr. Sullivan of Boston for about two minutes, Mr. Sullivan being a ry sociable man, optimism, 1 | Acorrespondent asks, “If you were goin; | to be killed for murder, would you prefer the halter or the guillotine 2” The proposition is so painfully suggestive that we shall never be guilty of murder; but if that misfortune ever should happen to us we should split the difference by going sleigh-riding and freezing to death. WHY NOT? Donwer—‘Sce here, I'm tired running here after that bill of mine.” Servayt— An’ why the divil don’t yer kape yer bill at home thin ?” comicbooks.com